


negative to positive (unlikely)

by superradcatural



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Humor, M/M, hopefully, questionable life choices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 20:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13302705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superradcatural/pseuds/superradcatural
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is a lot of things- a tease and a bitch being only a few- but he is not good at keeping his bank account in the positive or demons out of his house. Whatever, so he tries to summon Satan in order to relieve him and Bill of their current money related issues and instead gets Satan's obnoxious ass son named Richie. Who names their kid Richie anyway? Satan, that's who.[CURRENTLY RE EDITING]





	negative to positive (unlikely)

**Author's Note:**

> I keep pushing these stories out, huh. I'm excited about this one though. It is inspired heavily by a post I seen on pinterest. 
> 
> it's meant to be a lighthearted comedy but I'm HORRIBLE at being funny. you can find me on tumblr at richieyeddie. 
> 
> comments FUEL me. so please. comment

Eddie regards his bank account with a long sigh. It is negative again, by about...300 dollars. The bills went through, at least. He is grateful that even though it left his account negative, they at least had water. Eddie sighs again.

 

Letting his account reach the negatives wasn't easy, it meant he’d have some impressive fines from the bank, rivaling the time Stan got drunk and went on an Amazon spending binge. Sure, maybe it was his fault, or at least it was according to Bill, but in his own defense; he had plenty to drink that night too. He’d been an  _ enabler _ , according to Bill. Eddie wasn't buying it.

 

Eddie growls at the thought of the fines, on top of the money he already owed, plus the measly 400 dollars he’d be bringing in from his next paycheck that had to go towards his half of the rent. Literally growled, like a cat. Or a- a rabid coyote. 

 

The money was never enough. It never was, even with his crappy job and Bill’s half. Once, while he was in the middle of complaining, Beverly offhandedly made a comment about becoming a prostitute, and at the time Eddie had been offended and in his opinion, rightfully so. Him? A prostitute? He’d surely be eaten alive. Now though, looking at his name on the account and the expensive withdrawals made, Eddie began to change his opinion.

 

He must have been making quite the expression, because when the front door opens and Stan shuffles in and out of the cold, he pauses to determine whether or not to leave. Eddie thinks he must- incorrectly- assume that him and Bill have had it out. When Eddie makes no move to begin grousing, Stan ascertains that all is safe. 

 

He comes over and glances at Eddie’s phone, letting out a wolf whistle at the impressive amount owed. “Bills?” he asks, knowing all too well the woes of having a negative bank account. 

 

“Stan!” Eddie sits up. “I am literally gonna have to sell my soul to Satan if we want to keep this apartment, bills paid, food on the table, and wifi.” Eddie shouts this, like a loud voice would suddenly grant him a million dollars. Stan looked rumpled and affronted by his wordage. 

 

Then there is a long pause, during which Stan moves back to the door, where their coat rack is, and shrugs himself out of his meticulously dry cleaned coal colored pea coat. He hangs it up neatly and Eddie is disgusted by how graceful Stan is. 

Eddie is still wallowing in self pity when Stan reappeared in his direct vision, taking the phone from his clenched hands and setting it somewhere, out of Eddie's sight. 

 

“Listen,” he starts, and oh no; that has never been a good start to anything in the history of ever. Eddie gathers a ridiculously stupid idea, but once the thought is there it is  _ sticking. _

 

“Please don't leave! Stan, I know Bill and I are loud sometimes, but that's just how it is. Mario Kart is a tough game, and  _ someone's _ gotta show Bill who’s boss around here- oh,” he stops abruptly, taking in Stans disheveled appearance. He brings out the mom voice. “You can't move in with Mike yet, Stanley, it's much too soon. Don't make Bill and I ground you.” he waggles a finger at Stan with a mock angry expression on his face. Stan, for his part, curls his lip in disgust. 

 

“Shut up Eddie. Jesus, I'm not moving out- I don't even live here,  _ what. _ ” he broke off to rub the bridge of his nose, looking as exasperated as Eddie felt. “It's just a suggestion, you don't have to do it, but maybe, just  _ maybe,  _ you want to look for a better job? A smaller apartment?” 

 

Eddie narrows his eyes. He knew Stan only ever has good intentions, but suggesting they leave this place? Too far. He’d take Stan's constant nagging about cleanliness and his unholy suggestion of eating salad at least once a week. Who did that? Not Eddie Kaspbrak or Bill Denbrough, that much was for damn sure. But this? Proposing that they  _ move out? _ He was all set to throttle Stan and show him just how he felt about the little suggestion, when Stan tilts his head and exposes- 

 

Oh, _ wow _ .

 

There is a bright purple and red mark, nestled just under Stan's jaw. Glaring and oh so obvious.  Eddie sits up all the way, mouth lifting into a heavy smirk. Stan's face contorts weirdly, like a concerned parent or like Eddie just grew five heads and began spitting color.

 

Eddie feels devious. He knows something that for once, Beverly, Ben, or Bill don’t. He found out  _ first _ . Their little Stan the Man, their precious, oh so innocent and oh so clean, had been fucked. Of course it wasn't his first time, but Eddie was nothing if not a tease and a bitch. Stan has an expression of horror on his face now. He realized what Eddie had been looking at and turns a tomato red, reaching up to cover his neck from the heathens view. 

 

“How was Mike? As big as we said, because you know that Bill bet me like 50-” he is shut up by the pillow thrown into his face as well as Stan's loud _ la-la-laaing.  _

 

_ “ _ I’m leaving!” He snaps, much to Eddies amusement.

 

…

 

Honestly, he forgot all about his bank and the fact that he now owed 500 dollars. It had slipped away from him so easily with Stan being so distracting. The fact that Eddie failed to remember was unfortunate too, because the previous deadline had been missed and another fee was tacked on. While Eddie had been ranting about it, Bill tossed what was left of the spoilt milk away and told him that it was capitalism at its best. Eddie rolled his eyes and reached for the phone, somehow convinced he’d persuade the bank to give them more time.

 

Now, Eddie was regretting every life decision that led him to New York. 

 

“ _ More _ fees? I can’t- there is absolutely  _ no way _ I’ll have 500 dollars before Friday. It just won't happen, unless I start selling my body; and imagine if it came out that I was murdered because the bank gave me  _ until friday _ .” Eddie hisses down the line, pissed, with a red face and clammy hands. Bill mouths  _ tomato _ at him, which does nothing to calm Eddie’s pulsing nerves. Realization and mortification hits him in the face when the woman on the other end of the line begins stuttering out an apology. He hastily apologizes to the bank teller before hanging up, embarrassment clouding every action. 

 

Bill sets a bowl of what tried to be mac and cheese but appeared more like straight orange mush down on the kitchen table. Still, Eddie is thankful. Food was food was food. Sometimes, anyway. Eddie knew his best friend was only trying to console him so he eats it  _ and _ manages to not grimace at the blandness. Bill tries, he really does. A man after my own heart, Eddie thinks. 

 

While they were watching TV, after an intense cuddle session, Eddie sighs dramatically and sits up. Bill looks at him with puppy dog eyes, upset at the loss of heat. Until Eddie says: “I'm going to sell my soul to Satan.”

 

Bill drops the pen that was in his hand at the forwardness. He had been doing a crossword in the newspaper, like an old man. “What?” he asks quizzically, like maybe Eddie suddenly had a screw loose.  

 

“You heard me, Big Bill. Satan is gonna be gaining one hot soul tonight, and it was all  _ Stan’s _ idea.” with those words Eddie stands, stretches, gives the top of Bills head a few pats; and escapes to his bedroom. Bill still looks confused. 

 

…

 

That night, Eddie searches and searches for hours on how to summon the Devil. Huh, the thought genuinely shocked him. Is he actually going crazy? Figures. They just need the money desperately, and Eddie was slightly still above the line of selling himself for it. Just barely, but barely was enough in his eyes. He is  _ desperate _ for something, and the last ditch effort is to-- yes, summon the devil and ask for… well, Eddie is sure that if he can somehow manage to summon a literal demon, he would have a demand thought of by then. 

 

It isn't as if Bill is rich either. It is and always has been the two of them against the world. More like the bank and the water company though. Between the two of them, they had been almost paying all the bills on time, but this month had gotten away from both of them, with New Year's and Christmas and Hanukkah.

 

While nothing extremely reliable pops up, one website -- that looks pretty legit, in his opinion-- seems promising. Eddie clicks on the last link on page two of Google and an intrusive thought pops into his head that has Eddie laughing despite the situation. “Am I really on the second page of Google?” he asks out loud, to no one. 

 

The page is literally a tumblr blog. On second thought, Eddie thinks, maybe this isn't as promising as he originally assumed. But, unlike the others, this blog has actual detailed steps to take instead of fanfiction. “Okay…” Eddie says, reading and rereading the steps until they are memorized. It shouldn't be too hard.

 

He needs a drop of his blood, a bowl, a note explaining what he wants, and apparently, a pack of cigarettes. Weird, but doable. 

 

…

 

Eddie is woken up by a piercing shriek so loud he’ll later swear that Bill deafened him. 

 

He sits up. The room is cold, which means the heating was shut off sometime throughout the night. Great. Eddie rubs the sleep away and gets dressed quickly. He is understandably uncertain about leaving the safety of his bedroom. With Bill screaming like that, Eddie has no idea what he’s about to face. 

 

There is a loud clanging from the kitchen when Eddie enters the hallway, which is disconcerting. “Bill?” he croaks, voice hoarse from sleep, stepping ever so cautiously into the aforementioned room. 

 

The sight, is unnerving, to say the least. Eddie blinks. He blinks again, and again. “What...the fuck?” is all he can manage, because, wow, what the hell? 

 

There is Bill, obviously, who is holding a pan up defensively. He’s still wearing boxers and has untamed hair, which from Eddies many, many years of experience means he wasn't meant to be awake this early. 

 

But, there is another man too; who looks about their age. He’s dressed in day clothes, a baggy and vintage band t-shirt --which Eddie doesn't immediately recognize-- dark blue skinny jeans with rips in the legs, and black converse. His hair, which despite everything happening, Eddie can appreciate, is black and wavy and falls over his forehead. He seems so normal, so in place that Eddie has to blink a few more times because again, what the fuck? 

 

Bill, still holding his pan up, reaches for Eddie and grabs him successfully by the wrist, dragging him unceremoniously to his side. Eddie yelps in surprise and struggles to gain footing but Bill steadies him and holds the pan out towards the intruder. No longer distracted, Eddie realizes the loud clang must have been their dish of candies. The broken ceramic littered the tiled floor in pieces and the candy was just scattered. Well, goodbye old friend.  

 

“T-thu-this mu-muh-man b-br-broke in!” Bill shouts, stutter worsened by his anxiety and fear. His arm is wrapped tightly around Eddie’s shoulders and they are pressed together, which is why Eddie can feel how badly his friend is shaking. 

 

“I didn't!” the other man protests loudly, arms outstretched. Eddie feels his gaze and turns pink. What is happening? “Eddie--tell him that I didn't break in. The pan is funny, but this fucking-” he motions to a piece of glass stuck in the tan skin of his arm and Eddie frowns. “This isn't. This  _ hurts _ .” 

 

“How do you know my name?” is said at the same time that Bill releases his hold on Eddie and drops the pan by his side. 

 

“Wh-what is  _ ha-happening _ ?” 

 

And suddenly, like he was bludgeoned in the head with the awareness stick, Eddie understands what is happening in his kitchen at 5:30 in the morning. “Oh fuck,” he is internally freaking out. That stupid tumblr blog  _ worked _ ? He voices this, and the man-- or, the devil, Eddie guesses-- looks offended. 

 

“I worked very hard on that blog, you know. HTML is  _ not  _ easy.” He huffs, but his mood seems to change quickly. “Yes,” he says again, “it worked. I’m here to grant you your desire, blah blah.  _ No _ more money problems,  _ no _ more capitalistic bank fees, because Richie Tozier: entrepreneur, drums player, son of Hades; at your _ service! _ ”  

 

Eddie blinks about a thousand times before he is able to even begin trying to register all of this, but before he is able to open and say… what, exactly, Eddie isn't sure. He's still in disbelief that it worked. 

 

There is a thump next to him. Eddie looks at Bill’s crumpled body and thinks about taking a picture for Stan. 

 

“So, uh, my cigarettes?” 


End file.
